Irritant
by footshooter
Summary: Crackfic. The Joker tries to wind up Batman. Bruce manages to wind up the Joker. Swearing.


Bruce wondered sometimes just exactly how the Joker could be so _annoying_. It wasn't even remotely upsetting anymore, remotely threatening, the man was just irritating.

Bruce was currently stood, as Batman, in the middle of a warehouse with his hands on his hips, sighing. He knew the Joker was in here somewhere, he'd managed to miss all but one of the childish booby-traps, and the one he did trip (that spilt a bucket of water over his head) was greeted with an over-enthusiastic giggle.

He was being what Alfred would describe as "an arse", and Bruce didn't have time for it.

"Joker."

Another giggle echoed through the building.

"Yes, honey?"

Bruce tutted. The Joker had _deliberately_ and infuriatingly chosen somewhere where their voices would echo through the shadows, making it impossible for him to locate the Joker's precise position. And he didn't fancy stepping _into_ those shadows. God only knows what'd be waiting for him there. The Joker had tried pretty much everything by now. There'd probably be some sort of rabid alligator waiting for him or something.

Bruce tutted again, he'd made a new years resolution to try and stop thinking like the Joker. That way madness lies.

"Did you just _tut_ at me, sweetheart?"

"Just get the fuck out here and stop lurking in the shadows like some dirty prostitute or something."

The Joker laughed properly this time. They'd given up the threats a long time ago. Well, they'd ran out of threats a long time ago. Now they were just down to insults, and even they were getting ridiculous.

"Maybe I like lurking in the shadows like a dirty call girl." His voice dropped to something that Bruce assumed was meant to be seductive. "How much would ya pay for me, cupcake."

Bruce groaned and put his head into his hands.

"What is wrong with you?"

The Joker shrugged, forgetting he was hiding behind a filing cabinet.

"Nothing that isn't wrong with you, too."

"Just come out. Then we can have the fight that you clearly dragged me here for, and then both go home and get some sleep."

The Joker pouted as Bruce thought longingly of the waiting fire and home made chicken pie that he'd had to _leave_ for this maniac.

"No."

The image popped and Bruce grimaced, strangely cartoon-like.

"Well," he said, folding his arms. "I'm not coming to get you. So we'll just have to stay here all night. And then neither of us will be able to get home, because it'll be daylight, so we'll have to stay here until _tomorrow_ night, by which time someone will definitely come looking for me." He paused, and then for good measure added, "And then you'll get arrested."

The Joker stamped his foot, "I'm _not_ going back to Arkham! I _told_ you."

"Well then show yourself."  
>"Nooooo!"<p>

These days, Bruce more often than not felt as though he was dealing with a petulant child than a mass-murdering psychopath. Since he'd had no younger brothers and sisters, and didn't have any children of his own (he didn't think), he didn't fully know how to deal with it. But waiting usually worked, so he leaned against a post and said nothing more.

It was only a matter of time, really.

"I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts…"

Bruce rolled his eyes, "This again? Don't you know any other songs?" 

"Here they are all standing in a roooow!"

"That doesn't bother me, you know."  
>"BIG ONES, SMALL ONES, SOME AS BIG AS ME 'EAD!"<p>

Bruce laughed, he couldn't help himself, and the Joker's ghostly face appeared from behind the filing cabinet, eyes narrowed. Bruce waved (he didn't need to be Batman with the Joker very often. Not when he wasn't killing people, anyway. Being Bruce annoyed the Joker more than Batman ever could.)

The Joker stood up, angrily, and smoothed down his suit. Bruce raised his eyebrows, but obviously the cowl covered it so he managed not to agitate the Joker further. He stamped down the metal stairs heavily, clanging the metal louder than he really needed to like a teenager having a tantrum, and stalked over to Bruce, stopping in front of him.

"Hello. Now, this is better isn't it."  
>"You're not even using the Bat-voice," The Joker whined.<p>

"Am I not? Shit. Ah well."  
>"I don't like it when you know how to get to me."<br>"Well you should stop trying to get me to spend so much _time_ with you, then, shouldn't you?"

The Joker stuck out his bottom lip, and Bruce laughed, reaching out to pat his cheeks. The Joker slapped his hand away, merely making Bruce laugh more.

"Stop itttt!"

Bruce bit his lip in an attempt to stop laughing.

"You've just ruined it now. A fight won't feel the same."

The Joker made a 'hmph' sound as he exhaled.

"Aw, sorry."

"Prick."  
>"Oi. No need."<p>

The Joker stared around.

"So what do we do now?"

Bruce shrugged, and tugged off the cowl, running his hands through his sweaty hair. The Joker grimaced, slightly.

"How about you go and wash your face, and I'll get the beer out the back of the car."

"You planned this!"  
>"I did no such thing. Now shoo."<p>

Bruce motioned a shooing gesture with his hands, and the Joker reluctantly slunk off. Bruce shook his head as he went to get the crate out of the back of the car. Out of all of his triumphs, all of his conquests, all the things Bruce Wayne had done, this one always stood the best. The one no one would ever know about.

Because Bruce Wayne, of all people, had the Joker wrapped around his little finger.


End file.
